


An Inevitable Betrayal

by vials



Category: The Moscow Trilogy - Simon Sebag Montefiore
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 21:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: In a world full of terrible inevitability, Agrippina learns to take whatever she can get.





	An Inevitable Betrayal

At first it had been nothing more than a bit of fun. Benya had been a breath of fresh air into the school – not that Agrippina would ever say anything of the sort out loud. But that didn’t change the truth of the matter, despite the fact that she knew all of the reasons why he was such a breath of fresh air were also the reasons why she should stay as far away from him as she could. Any sensible girl would, but she was far past being sensible. Perhaps she might have been, if this had been a few years ago, but so long in such a formal, stuffy environment had made her wish for something more. Even spending time with a person who wasn’t afraid to have opinions would be nice, and Benya had plenty of those. Too many, most people would probably say, and of course she heard the whispering in the staff room when they started spending their breaks together by the window, talking about literature and life and anything else that came to mind. She had paid no heed to the barely concealed warnings dropped to her in conversations clearly only started just so the warnings could be given: yes, she knew who he was, no, she wasn’t worried about it, no, she didn’t think he was up to anything untoward. 

Agrippina was nothing if not professional, and she supposed that was why nobody had any idea what was going on once they began sleeping together. It was just for fun, of course – at least at the beginning, something scandalous to do in their lunch breaks, sneaking off under the pretence of going home and then spending the hour together, fitting as much pleasure as they could into it because it felt like the only time they could really have any fun or be themselves, and even then they would have to be mindful of the fact that the walls could have ears; that they might not have the freedom they sought even then. Perhaps that was why she liked being so close to him in such a way; when they were wrapped up in bed together they could murmur anything in one another’s ears, and they did: not sweet nothings but things much deeper than that, their frustrations, their fears, and the most scandalous political jokes Agrippina had ever heard, that she felt guilty just for _knowing_. Despite herself she always laughed, and Benya always told her the same thing.

“Learned _that_ one in the gulag.”

It was a reminder; something that hung over their heads constantly, telling them that if they weren’t careful – and this could hardly constitute as careful – they could find themselves facing the realities that Benya spoke of – in his case, for the second time. 

“You know,” he had said, when she’d brought it up, “they probably wouldn’t be as nice to me the second time around.”

It was true, and she knew it. She didn’t know for some time why the thought made her feel so cold, but gradually she came to accept the truth: she would miss him. She worried about him. Despite herself, she cared about him, and it was clear that he felt the same way. Doing anything about it would be impossible, of course. In an ideal world they would marry, have children, grow old together, all of the expected things. But this _wasn’t_ an ideal world, even if everyone around them told them it was so. It was the least perfect world that Agrippina could think of, though of course that was something else she could never say, either. 

“So, what about you?” Benya asked, when they were curled close enough together to ask such things, their breaths coming out in murmurs so if anyone did happen to be listening it would simply sound as though they were sleeping. 

“What about me?” she asked, sounding quite close to sleep as it was.

“You’ve never gotten into trouble,” he said, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. She closed her eyes, sure she would fall asleep if he carried on. “At work you’re the picture of professionalism. You have a good standing, and as such people are starting to _gossip_ about what you might want from me. Why would you throw away that safety net just for me? Surely I’m not worth it.”

“No,” she said, and he gave a soft laugh. 

“I can always count on you to be honest.”

She smiled, her eyes still closed. “It isn’t entirely about you, Benya. You are a part of it, though. You know you’re much more of a romantic than I am.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“So while you are very much worth the hassle, it’s other things, too. It’s the freedom, however little we have. I can talk to you. I don’t get that with anyone else.” She sighed, and quietly rolled over to face him. “With everyone else I feel as though I’m walking on eggshells, but it isn’t because of any romantic reason between you and I, though of course I care deeply for you. You know what the reason is.”

“Because in this world, you have to walk on eggshells. To not do so means to die.”

“Exactly. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how exhausting that is. When you meet somebody that you don’t have to do that around, romantically or otherwise, it becomes addictive.” She smiled. “I might look like a good young Communist. I might talk the talk and I might pay all my dues. I might be quiet and professional and do what’s expected. But inside it isn’t like that at all. Inside I feel like I could go crazy for how claustrophobic I am. Inside I think about what it could be like in other places – perhaps we could date. Perhaps we could be something more official, instead of sneaking around like schoolchildren. Perhaps there’s a place on this earth where we wouldn’t have to disguise the fact that we’re fucking, or a place where people wouldn’t audibly gasp because I said the word _fuck_. Perhaps there’s a place where, if we wanted to, we could get married and have children, without worrying about what your name would do to them because they’re attached to you.” She shrugged. “I think of all of those things and it makes me mad. It makes me so angry I could cry.”

“To look at you, nobody would think it,” Benya said. He was smiling at her, a fond smile that almost made her want to look away. It was so sweet, so genuine; she couldn’t remember the last time she had been smiled at like that. It seemed to her that so many people were afraid to show any kind of affection, lest the person become an Enemy the next week and that one smile, that one touch, be used to condemn them alongside the other. 

“I should hope so,” she said, swallowing. There was a lump in her throat, and she didn’t want it to be there. 

_It’s un-Bolshevik,_ she thought, absurdly, and almost laughed.

“If you carry on acting like that, you might make it out alive,” he said, and gave a quiet laugh. “I shouldn’t be so morbid. But you know, it’s difficult, when you’ve seen what I’ve seen. It becomes an inevitability. There are lots of inevitabilities in this world, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“And especially here.”

“Like what?”

“It’s inevitable that we’ll all know someone who’s declared an Enemy,” Benya said casually, “or that we already do. It’s inevitable that a lot of us will be declared one ourselves. It’s inevitable that _something_ we’ve done will be dug up on us, and we’ll have to answer for it. It’s inevitable that we might be used to corner someone else; the real target. Basically it’s inevitable that we’re all going to be fucked over one way or another, and yet we still live with it.” He looked at her again, another one of those looks that made her think he would really die for her, if it meant dying for love. “Despite all this we still live, and we still love, and we still make jokes and sing songs and laugh and have fun. Isn’t that fantastic? No matter what is going on, people still have time to be people. Nice people. _Good_ people.”

She nodded. She understood, but sometimes she found herself in awe of the trust that Benya had in the world. That even if it could put him down, he still loved it firmly. She wasn’t sure she would come back laughing from exile, like he had. She wasn’t sure if she would throw herself back into the swing of life, the cold of Siberia etched permanently into her features but never dulling her smile. She had heard of people returning as shells of who they used to be, and she couldn’t imagine how Benya had done it. He seemed to be even more full of life now, even more full of energy and curiosity and love. She could cry, knowing that he was right, knowing that it would soon be threatened again; that some people would want to destroy it. 

“I’ve talked to a lot of people in my time,” he said, and she listened, despite knowing it would only reinforce what she had been thinking, make her ache with grief for him more even though he wasn’t gone yet. “Including a few people who were in the camps, you know – the Nazis. Jewish people who have seen hell. And they could tell you horror stories for days, but every so often they’d come out with something so _funny_ ; an inside joke, a prank they got away with on the guards – pranks they risked their lives to pull, all for smiles their fellow prisoners wouldn’t be able to show until much later. Can you imagine that? To risk your life to give your comrades a laugh. There would be jokes, or inside jokes between groups or huts; there would be moments of kindness, brief but present, that they would remember with their eyes shining with tears. And through it all, all I could think was my God. The harder people try to kill you, to destroy you, the harder you want to live. It’s incredible. Even if we know it’s useless, even if we’re sure we will die, we still try. For ourselves, for others.”

“How do you do it, Benya?” Agrippina asked. It was an effort to keep her voice low; her throat was tight, her eyes stinging. “If that happened to me I would die screaming about it. I don’t know how you can forgive the world.”

“Because it wasn’t the world that did this,” he told her firmly. “And say it was? The world also gave me a second chance. The world gave me a job I love and kids I adore. The world gave me stolen hours with you, and endless conversation, and moments like this where it doesn’t matter what else is happening. If you were in exile and you knew you could die, or you could have one more moment like this so long as you lived, what would you choose?”

“Of course I would choose this. Of course I would want to do it again.”

“With _me_ , or just _again_?”

“Well, just again,” Agrippina said, frowning slightly. She wondered where it was going. “Once you know it’s possible, of course you want to do it again. Or have moments like it.”

“Stolen moments,” Benya said. “Things you take, hide away, that they don’t know about. That might be what keeps you going. So you get out of exile and you come back and… what? Surely you don’t just sit in your apartment. Surely you think of all the things you said you’d do, all the things you said you’d missed, and you try and get them back in any way you can.”

“Of course. I mean, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that simple, but yes, that’s what I would go for.”

“So there you have it,” Benya said. “That’s how I do it. This is my second chance. The one I didn’t think I would get. And I know it’ll end.”

Agrippina blinked. She hadn’t expected him to be so casual about it, nor to look at her with that same understanding she saw on his face sometimes – like he knew something that she didn’t. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Benya said, laughing. “I’ve known it from the moment I got here. Of course it won’t last! Such things rarely do. I already have a target on my back. These days I just take everything I can get. Every day is another victory. I’ll just collect as much of those as I can until it’s time for the end, and that’s just how it is.” 

“I couldn’t bear to think about it,” Agrippina said quietly. “I don’t know how you can. It’s so… fatalistic.”

“I disagree. I think it’s a very romantic way to look at life.”

“Of course it is,” she said, managing a weak laugh. “You’d be alright with anything if you could fit it in to one of your poems.”

“I won’t even deny it.”

“Are you not scared?” she asked, before she could stop herself. She hadn’t even known she wanted to ask it until the words were out of her mouth. 

“No,” he said, quite serenely. “You’re only scared the first time.”

She nodded, and he smiled at her again and then kissed her, once, softly.

“The first time,” he said, “if you see a chance to get away, you take it. If you see an opportunity to get a second chance, you grasp it with everything you’ve got. You might be scared they’re lying to you – we all are. But sometimes they’re not. Sometimes you do get that second chance. And what’s the worst that could happen? If they lie you were going to end up with that fate anyway. If they tell the truth you get something wonderful. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“Because some things are inevitable,” he said, and gave her that knowing look again, and she found she didn’t want to know any more.


End file.
